Chapter 5
“I
dinnae know what got intae him. He enjoys sparring, but that wasnae sparring. I dinnae know what that was.”
Sorcha half-listened to Sheamus as they walked back to the keep, replaying the events in her mind.
There was no doubt that Liam was a warrior, much like her brothers-in-law were.
When she had come upon him circling the other man, she had not expected him to move as fast as he did, nor with such ferocity that it had Sorcha’s head spinning.
But even with the violence, Sorcha had not been remiss in acknowledging his warrior’s build either.
Broad shoulders that tapered to a trim waist, with legs that reminded her of small tree trunks encased in breeks.
He towered over the other men that were present, his dark red hair brushing his shoulders as he had fought and won.
Well, he would have won had they not interfered.
“It matters not what he has said,” Sheamus continued as they made it to the keep. “Ye will be wed.”
“He didnae seem tae think so,” Sorcha pointed out, stepping inside.
The warmth of the room immediately hit her cold cheeks, and she sighed happily, wanting nothing more than to wrap herself in a warm blanket and sit before the fire.
They had traveled for a week in the cold weather, and no matter how many fur blankets she had wrapped herself in at night, the cold seemed to be relentless.
They had only arrived an hour before she had been introduced to her betrothed, waiting until he had finished listening to his clan’s plights before making their appearance.
Now that seemed like a lifetime ago.
“He will come around,” Sheamus responded, gesturing toward the stairs. “I will show ye tae a chamber so ye may rest and get warm.”
“That would be lovely,” Sorcha said as they walked the stairs together. Soon, she was shown a small but tidy chamber half the size of hers back home.
“I will come for ye at supper and send up some warm cider.”
“Thank ye,” Sorcha said before he shut the door, leaving her alone.
The silence was deafening, especially since she had been in the company of others for the last week.
Sorcha stripped off her cloak and held her frozen hands out to the fire, warming them.
It was clear to her that Liam was not pleased as to what his uncle had done, and she couldn’t blame him.
It was the same concern she had, thinking that if someone had sprung on her someone to marry, she would have had the same reaction.
But now that she was here, Sorcha had no plans on returning home, defeated.
She was going to make this work, and in order for that to happen, she would need to speak to the laird.
He was far more comfortable on the sparring field than she had seen him listening to his clan, and that was where she could be of benefit.
She could take on the clan’s responsibilities that he did not care for while presenting a united front that they both cared about their clan. Sorcha imagined that Liam did care for his clan, just choosing to defend and protect them with his sword instead of any words of wisdom.
If only she could get a few moments with him.
A thought crossed her mind, and Sorcha reached for her cloak, knowing that the laird would likely be still at the sparring field. From her small pack, she withdrew the dagger that her sister had pressed into her hand before she had left the keep, tucking it into the pocket of her skirts.
She would show him that she was much more than a wife, but a partner that would not back down.
It didn’t take her long to find her way back out of the keep and toward the sparring fields, passing numerous warriors as she did so—including the one that had been fighting with the laird.
He glared at her as she passed, dried blood on his face.
She glared back, showing him that he did not frighten her either.
The laird was still on the field when she approached, staring off into the distance and looking like a man who had the weight of his clan on his shoulders. Sorcha approached him, fingering the dagger in her pocket.
“Mah lord?”
He turned; his eyes narrowed as he saw her. “I dinnae know what mah uncle told ye, but I cannae marry ye.” “Ye dinnae like me?” “What? No...I mean...”
“Well,” Sorcha started, choosing her words carefully, “what if I could get ye tae change yer mind?”
Even close up, the man was impossibly tall, with Sorcha only coming up to his chest, but it didn’t take away from his handsomeness. “What could ye do tae change mah mind?”
Sorcha drew in a breath. “I will fight ye for a chance.”
His eyes widened then. “Hah! I cannae fight ye, lass. Go home.”
“Nay,” she replied, pulling out her dagger. Tavin had given her a few pointers in handling a dagger over the years, wanting her to be able to defend herself in case the keep was attacked. Now those lessons were going to come in handy. “Not until I’ve had mah chance.”
“I dinnae have tae give ye anything, lass.”
Sorcha smirked. “Then ye wilnae mind sparring with me? Surely a great laird such as ye could take a woman like me.”
He studied her for a moment. This lass was unbelievable. “Alright. Let me choose mah weapon.”
She waited as he entered a small building, returning a moment later with a sharp dagger. “If I best ye, ye will leave.”
“And if I best ye, then ye will hear me out.”
The laird dipped his head, and Sorcha removed her cloak. This was her chance to show him that she could be an ally, a partner for this clan.
Grinning, he stepped out into the frozen circle and beckoned her to charge him, the dagger in his left hand.
Sorcha didn’t move, studying his stance and what move she wanted to make first. The laird had learned to block his weakness, keeping his arms loose and balancing easily on his toes, making it easier to move quickly when charged.
Instead of moving quickly, she took her time just as Tavin had explained to her. “Tell me,” she said as she moved toward him, “which weapon do ye prefer?”
He snorted. “A sword. What self-respecting Scot doesnae?”
But Sorcha wasn’t listening. She was already rushing him, throwing her shoulder against his stomach, and knocking him off guard.
The way to beat a stronger opponent was a moment of distraction. They both went down, but Sorcha recovered first, holding her dagger to his throat. Looking at him with her eyes wide open and filled with enthusiasm, she declared, “I win!”
She has beautiful blue eyes.
“Ye cheated!”
She arched a brow. “Cheated or outsmarted ye?”
His mouth thinned. “Ye made yer point.”
Sorcha pulled the dagger back, suddenly aware that she was straddling a man who was to be her husband.
Her hand was flayed on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under her palm.
This close, she could see the stubble on his strong chin, feel the heat emanating from him even though they were surrounded by cold.
Sorcha scrambled off the laird and watched as he stood, tucking the dagger into his belt. “Well lass, it seems I have a proposition tae listen tae.”
He was acknowledging that she had won. The thought warmed her, and she tried to form the words that she had rehearsed repeatedly in her own mind. “I dinnae wish tae marry for affection. I wish tae marry for a clan tae call mah own. I want tae become a partner, nothing more.”
Her words seemed to take him by surprise. “Ye wish tae marry for political alliance?”
She shook her head. “Nay, just a partner.” It was all she wanted. She cared not to take over her husband’s clan or create alliances. She only wished to be seen as a partner, to help the clan she found a home with.
One that she could become a part of and if there was a wish to help grow the future generations.
“Did ye tell mah uncle of yer plan?”
“Aye,” Sorcha responded, picking up her cloak and draping it around her once more. Even though she did not have it off but for a few moments, Sorcha was already chilled to the bone.
The laird seemed to notice her discomfort, for he sighed. “Come,” he stated. “’Tis cold here.”
Sorcha followed him to the keep, the warmth of the great hall far better than the cold wind.
It was a fine great hall with colorful tapestries on the wall and clean rushes on the floor.
The furniture was old but sturdy-looking enough, the fireplace large and welcoming. It all reminded Sorcha of home.
A pang of loneliness shot through her, and Sorcha pushed it aside. She had other things to focus on now, not missing her family.
She stripped off her cloak and stepped before the fire, her hands tingling. He joined her a moment later, holding out a small glass. “Here,” he said softly. “This will help warm yer insides.”
“Mah thanks,” she responded as she took the glass, the sharp tang of whiskey filling her senses. Sorcha wasted no time drinking the liquid, wincing as the fiery liquid coated her throat. Soon she would be numb from the remaining coldness, and a warmth in her belly unlike any other could provide.
“What do ye see as getting out of this partnership?” he asked lightly as they stood side by side in front of the roaring fire. “What are yer intentions?”
“I’m the youngest of three sisters,” Sorcha began, deciding to tell him the truth.
She had nothing to hide, and her intentions were pure, even if they were somewhat unconventional.
“Mah clan has a leader. I have no thought tae stay with mah clan, but tae find mah home.” She wanted to add that she was looking for a future as well but decided against it.
He was listening to her. That was enough for now.
“I have no need for a wife,” he said after a moment, his voice betraying no emotion. “But mah clan has a need for a lady of the keep.”
“And I have no need for a husband,” she added, hope flaring in her breast. “But I wish tae be a partner.”
He nodded slowly. “I think this can work between us.”
Sorcha let out a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. He was going to agree to her plan! She could scarcely believe it. “Aye.”
He turned toward her, extending his hand. “Liam McCullam.”
“Sorcha McPherson,” she stated, placing her hand in his. His touch was warm and strong, but he did not linger with his hand, withdrawing it quickly. “McPherson. Yer da—”
“Was a bastard,” she finished for him, not wanting to be placed in the same thought as her father. “Mah sister Moira is now the laird.”
“Aye,” Liam replied, stroking his strong chin. “I was at the gathering.”
“Liam!”
They both turned to see a portly woman hurrying their way. “Aunt,” he replied, gesturing toward Sorcha. “This is Sorcha McPherson.”
“I heard,” she stated, turning toward Sorcha. “Ye poor dear! Ye had tae deal with mah husband and now this!”
She was married to Sheamus? “Mah Aunt Agnes,” Liam replied, eyeing the woman with surprise. “Sorcha has agreed tae be mah wife.”
The woman’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, clearly surprised by the news. “Well now,” she stated after a moment, smoothing her hands on her skirt. “Seems we have a wedding tae plan then.”
“I will leave ye tae discuss,” Liam said quickly before walking off.
Sorcha watched him leave, the surprising turn of events having her thoughts all jumbled. He had agreed to her plan. She still couldn’t believe she had cajoled him into agreeing to the fact that he needed a partner. Sheamus had been right. His nephew would do anything for his clan.
“Well, mah dear,” Agnes was stating, linking her arm with Sorcha’s.
“This is a wonderful turn of events, it is. We have waited long for him tae take a wife and now he has.” The woman’s voice caught, but she cleared it, making Sorcha wonder if something had been left out of Sheamus’s tale he had spun on the journey to her new home.
The woman collected herself, putting on a sunny smile for Sorcha. “Have ye been given a room?”
“I have,” Sorcha replied.
“And food?”
Sorcha shook her head, and Agnes clucked her tongue, steering her toward the kitchens. “Then come and let me feed ye. Ye must be starved!”
Sorcha’s stomach rumbled, and both women laughed, Sorcha starting to relax a bit now that everything she had planned was coming together. Liam was going to marry her, yet there was something troubling him. He was a laird and more than handsome.
Why was he not very eager to marry?